


would you believe me if i said i'm in love?

by leere



Series: Tumblr SP Prompts [5]
Category: South Park
Genre: Alternate Universe - Punk, Alternate Universe - Rock Band, Drabble, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-06
Updated: 2019-10-06
Packaged: 2020-11-26 09:22:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 515
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20927876
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/leere/pseuds/leere
Summary: “Well, immorality is pretty punk rock, don’t you think?”





	would you believe me if i said i'm in love?

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted to Tumblr on 7/26/19. Title's from Power Trip by J. Cole - I've wanted to use it for fic for, shit, half a decade? This is based on an AU my lovely buddy Anna came up with.

Kenny wouldn’t mind his unfounded reputation for being a stoner if it didn’t take credit away from the real source of his seemingly perpetual inebriation - Miss Bebe Stevens. She was the coolest girl in South Park, he was sure of it. Maybe even in all of Colorado. 

She’d always been, but for a while she’d just had good looks and popularity on her side, not to mention her mysterious way of being up to date on any drama that ever happened. Kenny had always found her beautiful and badass, but back then he hadn’t even considered pursuing her, not when she was so damn - well, frankly, _scary_. She intimated the hell out of him.

But then, in tenth grade, he’d bumped into her outside a local show that Craig and Stan had dragged him to. She had raccoon-like eyeliner on, fishnets and knee-high boots, and she’d replaced her charming little nose stud with a ring. 

“Since when are you goth?” he’d exclaimed, marveling at her transformation. At school she favored pink baby tees and juicy sweatpants; he had no clue how that girl and the one who stood before him were one in the same. 

“Punk,” she’d corrected, with a sly little smirk. “It’s my secret double life.”

She asked if he liked the band that was playing - he admitted he hadn’t heard of them. Then she’d told him that their music was shitty, but the singer was pretty hot, and gave him a wink before heading inside. He’d followed dutifully, disregarding whether she’d intended him to or not - then watched in awe as she climbed onto the stage and disappeared for a moment, before returning with an aqua blue Gretsch in hand. Then she went up to the mic and said, “Don’t get too excited, boys; I can barely play rhythm.” 

He’d kind of fallen in love after that - maybe it was predictable, but he was infatuated with the idea that a person could seem like one thing, but then _be_ another. He supposes he was like that, too; he seemed human, yet wasn’t. He thinks that if he told Bebe about it, she’d laugh and say, “Well, immorality is pretty punk rock, don’t you think?”

He rips his old jeans at the knee - lets her paint his finger nails black. “You’re a good sport,” she says, and Kenny thinks about how he always is; wonders if it’s tolerance, or compliance. Then he decides he doesn’t care, not with the way she looks at him, so full of love. 

They’re cuddled in the back of the van, days or months later, wedged between an amp and a kick drum. He’s half in her lap, and she’s all in his mind. She runs her fingers through his hair, gone greasy from their time on the road, but she seems unbothered. “I dream in time signatures now,” she muses aloud.

He wants to tell her that he dreams in the shape of her smile, but he knows that’s corny, so he says, “I’m craving mashed potatoes.”

She laughs, like wedding bells, and Kenny thinks it’s enough.


End file.
